Read Online Lies You Wanted to Hear by James Whitfield Thomson - Free Book Online

hand. “Hello, gorgeous.”
    The cat sniffed his hand, then ducked her head and began to nuzzle it.
    “She likes men,” I said.
    He started to tease Rory, and she took a swipe at him with her paw.
    “Now, now, Rorschach, don’t get testy.” Matt glanced at me for approval.
    “You, sir, have potential,” I said.
    We walked down the street to his car, the yellow Thunderbird Jill had told me about. When we got into the theater, the only empty seats we could find together were in the second row. Matt hurried off to the lobby and came back with two sodas and a bucket of popcorn. The movie was wonderful, but I kept squirming in my seat with my neck craned up at the screen. Matt began to massage the back of my neck; his fingers were salty and greasy, but the gesture, like Alvy Singer’s bumbling attempts at romance with Annie Hall, was so artless and sincere it was impossible to resist. I gave a sigh of approval and leaned in for more. When he laughed his peculiar laugh, people nearby took a peek at him, amused or annoyed, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    It was twilight when we exited the theater. We strolled through the Common to the Public Garden and talked about the movie. Matt said he liked it, but he thought Bananas and Sleeper were funnier. I said I thought it was Woody Allen’s best film yet. I liked the way he kept reminding you it was a movie, turning to the camera and talking directly to the audience, then stepping back into the story. Matt and I began quoting our favorite lines from the movie.
    I said, “I loved the part where Annie and Alvy are walking down the street and he stops and suggests they kiss for the first time so they can get it over with.”
    “Yeah, great line,” Matt said. “I wish I’d’ve thought of that with you.”
    “When would you have said it?”
    “When would I have had the courage? On the sidewalk after dinner, maybe, when you put that rose in your hair. When did I want to say it? About two seconds after I saw you crossing the street.”
    “I probably would’ve slugged you.”
    “Yeah?” He put his arm around me. “Then I would’ve cuffed you and taken you in.”
    I laughed. “Promises, promises.”
    We crossed the footbridge over the pond where the swan boats were tied up for the evening. A fat man was sitting on a bench playing “The Tennessee Waltz” on an accordion. I started singing along with the music, and Matt put a dollar in his instrument case.
    “Milady,” he said with a deep bow.
    I curtsied and took his hand, and we began to waltz. It could have been a scene from a movie, more Frank Capra than Woody Allen, Matt a little ungainly, but his spirit trumping his awkwardness. I knew at that moment he was not going to sleep with me tonight to get it over with; he wanted a storybook romance, an old-fashioned courtship full of restraint and longing. A week ago I would have scoffed at such a notion as artificial and demeaning to women. Now I found myself thinking, Why not give it a chance? It would be something different, anyway. Like going to live in a commune, or being born again and putting your faith in Jesus. I had no illusions (or delusions) that this was True Love, not for me anyway, but it felt like happiness—pure, simple-minded joy. The trick was not to question it, or belittle it like Amanda; just put on my fool’s cap and follow Matt’s lead.
    ***
    It was summer, the sun shone brightly, and I rarely felt blue. Matt called me every day. He took me to a Red Sox game and a Bee Gees concert. I went to a few of his softball games and met some of his friends; Jill and Terry had us over for a cookout with a bunch of other couples. Matt was at ease socially, and everyone seemed charmed by him.
    I loved riding in the Thunderbird with the top down and the radio blasting, Matt shifting gears like a race car driver. One Sunday morning we were on the way to the beach at Plum Island—I was wearing shorts over a low-cut bathing suit—when a police car pulled us